The Haunting by Talesin Gore

I am haunted by a world
That is both past and future      and the present
Is a tunnel through which it flows

Where horses are       heraldic
White icons on the darkening field

Where the wind blows through my bones like flutes
Hollow       low
Plays my skeleton on its own frequencies

Where the dark
Descends       low clouds of black TV static
Loosening my joints and tendons

Where puddles         reflect
The trees up in their own world
Their dark sinuous limbs like tentacles

Of diluvian monsters       or the undulant
Tapered fingers of a terrible
Ancient goddess      whose word

Will bring down darkness       who
Will wield the moon’s bright sickle
To circumcise        this sickly child

The whites of whose wild eyes are

Where a dark-purple flower
Will unfurl

Bury this seed      in the ancient soil
See       what black-feathered
Wings will grow


Taliesin Gore is a young writer who lives in a shed in Dorset, England. Since a nervous breakdown in his late teens first brought him into close contact with it, he has had a close relationship with the Void, which, alongside its polar opposite, the World Soul has provided him with a wealth of creative inspiration. His fiction has been published at Horla, his poetry in Dream Catcher and The Dawntreader, and one of his essays in The Powys Journal. He has an MA in English Literary Studies from the University of Exeter, and is an academic editor by trade. 

Published 10/28/21


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